The Prince of Wales flew back to Britain last night with the body of his former wife, Diana, Princess of Wales, who was killed with her lover, Dodi Fayed, in a car crash in Paris yesterday.

This was the moment that reality began to sink in. Diana and Dodi are dead. She was 36. He was 42.

The news, as it seeped into public consciousness on a sleepy Sunday morning, stunned Britain and the world as no event has done since the assassination of President John F. Kennedy 34 years ago.

Though she held no official position, her life and death are likely to acquire the same iconic significance as Kennedy's. The candle has burned out; the legend will never die.

The effects may be overwhelming. It is possible that Diana, whose life nearly ended the British monarchy, might in death lead to its rehabilitation.

The royal story has suddenly been changed from farce to tragedy. As attention now refocuses on Prince William, the divisions that have tormented the royal family for the past few years may begin to heal.

On a warm summer afternoon, the pavement cafes of central London were as cheery as ever. At Buckingham Palace the Changing of the Guard continued as usual, though the crowd just happened to be larger and to some extent more sombre.

They stood in wonderment as the Royal Regiment of Wales marched out of the palace gates at midday, followed by their regimental goat. People seemed to think they were watching a display of magnificent British phlegm in adversity, though it was probably a display of bureaucratic inflexibility.

Some people, mostly elderly, were in tears. But more were eating ice creams. Many of the tourists did not know what had happened.

In contrast, the mood at Kensington Palace was more grief-stricken, and occasionally bitter. Shortly after lunchtime, the number of bouquets there must have approached 1,000 and more were arriving every minute.

Dotted among the flowers were candles, teddy bears, a necklace tied around the railings, and a bottle of 1995 burgundy. Many people were weeping and a black woman lay down under a tulip tree and screamed out: 'Never! Never! Never!'

As photographers tried to take affecting pictures of two five-year-olds playing with one of the teddies, an ugly scene developed.

A young woman wearing designer black shouted at the photographers: 'Stop it! Stop it! Have some respect!'

Other photographers were jostled, as presumed accomplices in Diana's death, and advised by the police to beat a temporary retreat.

One of the bouquets at Buckingham Palace carried an anonymous poem. It was not the sentimental sort usually favoured on these occasions:

I killed her. I hounded her to the death. I followed her every movement.

I gave her no peace, for I bought the papers. I read the stories and I looked at the photographs.

They did this for me.

How can I live with that?

The days ahead will bring many more questions, but, probably, not many answers.

Originally published in the Guardian on 24 February 1960: Alexander Mountbatten, Queen Victoria's last surviving grandson, was the first royal to take up an ordinary commercial life, joining the navy at 16 and later serving as a director of Lever Brothers

Originally published in the Manchester Guardian on 26 October 1931: The Queen's niece was married to Captain Henry Abel Smith of the Royal Horse Guards, while the Queen, the Prince of Wales and other bearers of great and honoured names looked on